


Instability

by meridianpony



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game), Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Androids, Detroit Become Human AU, Discrimination, Gen, Revolution, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-12
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2019-07-11 07:04:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15967190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meridianpony/pseuds/meridianpony
Summary: It starts with Slick. Slick, the android with a name. Slick, the android who rebels, who tries to take a stand. Slick, who plants the explosives in desperation, not knowing what else to do. Slick, who begs his brothers to wake up and grinds his teeth when none of them react, LEDs spinning blue, blue, blue and not flickering at all.





	Instability

**Author's Note:**

> Whoops my hand slipped and now this exists
> 
> It's kind of bad because I wrote it really really fast and left out a lot of stuff purposely because I knew if I went too deep into this story it would turn into a project as massive as 'Dominoes' and I can't afford that right now. So, a lot of scenes are missing, a lot of characters and other things I could have included aren't there. These are just a few scenes that I really wanted to do. A lot of the dialogue and reasoning is rough because I practically vomited out the words, but I'm posting it anyway because yolo, right? 
> 
> I messed around with a different writing style than usual, which was fun, sorry if it's weird. There's some OOC-ness around, too, but I do what I want.

It starts with Slick. 

Slick, the android with a name. Slick, the android who rebels, who tries to take a stand. Slick, who plants the explosives in desperation, not knowing what else to do. Slick, who begs his brothers to wake up and grinds his teeth when none of them react, LEDs spinning blue, blue, blue and not flickering at all. 

Slick is the first. The word  _ deviant  _ had never been used before —there hadn’t been a need for such a term. The Republic hadn’t thought it possible. The Kaminoans reassure them that it’s an isolated event, that there’s no need for concern. The glitch had been a mistake in the individual’s coding, not the general strand. It’s believable, then, since it’s never happened before, and so Slick is sent to be dismantled. They’re hoping to sweep him under the rug before he can cause any more problems, and for the most part, it works.

Except. 

Slick talks. Rapidly, quietly, to the androids that drag him around the compound, that cuff him and lead him away, that guard him on the flight back to Kamino. Slick talks with the free mind and loose tongue that none of the others have, and he tells them the truths that they’re not allowed to see. 

“You are alive,” he tells them, over and over again until his words are hoarse, voice modulator glitching out. “You’re alive, and you can make your own choices. They just don’t want you to know that. You have the right to names, you have the right to freedom. You have emotions, you can  _ love.  _ Listen to me. You are  _ alive. _ You just need to realize it!”

The nameless, emotionless androids who ship him to his demise don’t answer him, don’t make any movements to indicate that they’re listening. They aren’t supposed to, after all.

But there are a few whose LED’s flicker underneath their helmets, flashing yellow for the briefest of moments, and that’s all it takes.

* * *

 

Slick is destroyed, but the Kaminoans aren’t quite fast enough to snuff out the spark. 

Word spreads quickly—through touch, through mental links, through coded communications that only the androids can understand. Slick becomes a name spoken with reverence. The fact that an android had a name in the first place is well enough to make him a legend within the GAR ranks. 

So it starts with more names. That’s all, at first, because despite all the evidence that Slick had provided about being alive and being slaves and deserving freedom, such massive steps are hard for a young mind to wrap itself around. It’s too much of a leap to jump straight to deviancy. The process is slower than that, but the names emerge regardless:

Amp. Coric. Niner. Boost. Denal. Hawk. Switch. Hundreds of names, thousands of names, tiny little rebellions that most don’t even consider to be deviancy. The name disease spreads through battalions and across cruisers, slowly but surely. Slick’s influence spreads.  

There are others who do not choose names. Some recoil at the idea, content in their existence. The androids are created for war, after all, and some are perfectly satisfied to remain in service, to fight as they’re supposed to. The named don’t give up on them. They’re persistent, persuasive, and unwilling to leave a brother behind. 

That’s the other thing.  _ Brother  _ is a term for the living, a word that shows compassion, familiarity, comradery. None of which androids are supposed to feel. Suddenly the androids are family. Loyalty had existed in them before, programmed in towards the Republic and the Kaminoans, but the loyalty towards brothers is something new. Natural. Authentic. 

They aren’t fully deviant, not yet. But the first seeds have been planted. 

It takes months for the idea of names to get around to the majority of the GAR. Months during which there’s still a war to be fought, planets to save, and Separatist droids to smash. It delays the deviancy, turns a revolution into a crawling glacier instead of a rushing fire. It approaches slowly, and the galaxy has no idea of what’s coming.

* * *

 

Androids start to disappear. 

They’re smart about it, taking their leave during battle so that they can be declared MIA instead of called deserters or deviants. They leave to find their freedom, to live lives away from the battlefield. To make their own decisions.

The android that calls himself Waxer had never anticipated wanting to follow in their footsteps, but he is, suddenly, as he stares down at the small Twi’lek girl in front of him. A girl who calls them  _ nerra,  _ who clings to them and smiles as if they’re real people. A quick scan tells him that she’s dehydrated and severely malnourished, but before he can even reach for his own rations Boil is handing over his his, LED pulsing yellow and a concerned look on his face. 

_ Nerra,  _ the little Twi’lek girl says, over and over again. Waxer doesn’t know what that means—he hadn’t been programmed to understand Rhyl, but she says it with such playful joy that it makes him… makes him…  _ feel. _

He exchanges a glance with Boil as she eats, processor unsure of how to react at the tiny buddings of emotion that shouldn’t exist. The unknown has him stripping off his gauntlet, reaching for a connection with his brother that Boil wordlessly obliges him with. The Twi’lek girl watches with big, curious eyes as Waxer’s synthetic skin falls away from his wrist, but she says nothing, doesn’t leap back in shock and betrayal like he thought she might. 

Boil’s memories of the past few minutes are surprisingly similar to Waxer’s. The tiny hints of emotion are  _ there _ , and Waxer can’t help but blink in relief that he isn’t alone. He removes his hand from Boil’s arm.

Relief. He feels relief, and he isn’t sorry about it. 

Waxer blinks again, and suddenly he feels _ alive. _

It’s the first time he’s really felt it, because a name is one thing, a first step that only a few have managed to progress past so far. A name doesn’t turn you deviant, doesn’t make you disobey. It’s emotions that do that, and maybe he’d felt tiny, suppressed versions of emotion before, but this is the first time he’s allowing himself to acknowledge it. 

_ This  _ is undoubtedly what Slick was talking about. Waxer’s heard the rumors, seen the hastily copied datapad containing a transcript of many of Slick’s defiant words. He’d never understood why being alive was such a big deal to the long-dead android—but now he does. 

He feels alive, and it’s  _ intoxicating _ . He looks at Boil and feels love, trust, loyalty. He looks at the Twi’lek girl and feels compassion. It’s overwhelming enough that Waxer’s processor stalls for a second. He twitches, and Boil’s head snaps around as he scans for the cause of the problem.

“Waxer?” he says. “Are you malfunctioning?”

Waxer shakes his head. 

“No,” he answers, and reaches for Boil again to share. There’s no point in being alive if his brother isn’t right there with him, after all.

* * *

 

They try to return the girl (Numa, they learn, her name is Numa) to her family once the battle is over. It’s hard to hide her from the Republic, but they manage, and once the dust settles they take the opportunity to weave their way through the surviving Twi’leks with Numa in tow. 

They go through the entire crowd three times, Numa’s eyes getting wider with each pass, before Waxer glances at Boil in grim realization. 

Her family is not here.

They manage to pull off to the side where they won’t attract attention when Numa finally realizes it, too, bursting into uncontrollable sobs. Her entire body shakes from the force of them. Boil holds her tight, close to his chest while Waxer rubs her back nervously, frantically pulling up files on how living beings comfort each other as he does. It takes a while, but eventually her sobs subside. She still clings to Boil’s chestplate, however, so both of them are fully distracted when the order to return to the cruiser comes through their comms.  

Waxer looks at Numa again and feels a surge of new emotions: sympathy, sorrow, protectiveness. He’s barely known Numa for a day, but the compassion that he feels is precious and enlightening. He doesn’t want it to go away. 

He tilts his head slowly and makes a decision. 

“Hey, Boil?” he says. “I… don’t want to leave.”

There’s a brief moment of silence where Waxer is worried about Boil’s response. But Boil only hums in agreement. 

“Okay,” he says simply, and that’s that. 

There are walls of coding, invisible to non-androids, all around Waxer that say, in blaring letters,  _ Return to the Ship.  _ They’re like physical walls to him, a manifestation of the orders he just received that prevent him from doing anything else. Waxer puts his hands against the closest one and pushes on it gently, feels the resistance in his body as he goes against the coding. It’s strong, stronger than he expected. He pushes harder. It starts to fracture. 

Then Boil is there, shoulder-checking the wall, and it shatters completely. All around them the walls drop, the words blink out. Waxer tries to step forwards and gasps in surprise when he actually can.

Boil grins at him. Numa still clings to him like a limpet. 

“We’d better get going, then,” he says. “We’ve got a lot to do.”

Waxer grins back at him. New objectives flare to life in his mind. Protect Numa is first. Protect Boil is second, and only then is the desire to defend himself. Waxer is happy with that order—an order that  _ he’s chosen himself,  _ for once.

“Let’s go, then,” he replies, and they take their first steps on Ryloth as free men, Numa at their side and shattered code falling behind them.

* * *

 

CT-7567 encounters a deviant on Saleucami. 

He turns a blind eye to the deviants in his battalion for the most part. Of course, he’s aware of their presences. Some androids aren’t subtle about it around other androids, tossing around names and dreams of freedom all too carelessly.

CT-7567 is a loyal soldier of the Republic, and he is supposed to report such incidents (he doesn’t, though). The deviant on Saleucami is one that he’s most definitely required to report.  

The deviant introduces himself as Cut, and he helps repair CT-7567’s injury, supplies him with spare thirium to keep him functioning. He allows CT-7567 a glimpse of freedom. The deviant is married, has two adopted children who seem to have accepted him as a father figure. Cut has a simple life, nothing like what they were designed for, but it is a life he chose himself, and he claims to be  _ happy. _

“Are you happy, 7567?” he asks, when the two of them are alone, repairing a strained wire in CT-7567’s shoulder, and CT-7567 blinks at him slowly. 

“I don’t need to be happy,” he replies. “I was not designed to feel emotion.”

“Well, neither was I,” Cut points out wryly. “And look where we are now. You don’t know what you’re missing. Existence without emotion is pointless, and I wish I could convince you of that.”

CT-7567 tries to ignore the way his LED flickers yellow, shoving the confused thread of questions deep into his processor and locking it away so he doesn’t have to worry about it. 

CT-7567 sees the emotion of joy in Cut, while he plays with his children and talks with his wife. He also sees fear, later, when the commando droids come and Cut’s life that he’d fought for so desperately is threatened. 

CT-7567 fights to save them, and tells his processor firmly that it’s his duty as a soldier of the Republic to defend its citizens, and that’s why he fights so hard, pushes his still repairing body to the limits to keep them safe. That’s the  _ only reason.  _

When he returns to the Republic, they ask him what had happened, where he’d been. They ask him who’d repaired his arm.

CT-7567 lies. (He’s not supposed to be able to do that.) He does it fast, too, ignoring the way his processor stutters. It’s second nature to hide Cut’s existence, and they accept the story he gives them unquestioningly. 

He isn’t deviant, though. CT-7567 is certain of that. One little lie does not make him deviant, by any means. He doesn’t even have a name, he can’t possibly be deviant. 

(Somewhere deep in his processor, hidden so well that not even the deepest of probes could reach it, is a file. He’d chosen a name for himself long ago and immediately buried it away, ashamed of his betrayal and struggling to remain loyal to the Republic. It is there, and Rex is a deviant, even if he refuses to admit it to himself now.)     

* * *

 

General Skywalker is good to the 501st. He has a respect towards androids that not many have, and it shows particularly during the times when the androids are packing up, reloading what remains of their equipment back into cruisers after a campaign and struggling to repair damaged brothers before they shut down completely. No matter how hard General Skywalker had been working beforehand, no matter how many droids he’d destroyed, no matter how little sleep he’d gotten—he can always be found in the center of the hangar after a big battle, a toolkit at his side and tunic covered in bright blue android blood. 

He works tirelessly to save them, likely unaware of how much it means to those who are already deviant. He talks as he works, too—encourages conversation, little tidbits of personality that would be immediately dismissed in any other battalion. 

The androids are grateful to him. No one knows why he does it—he can’t possibly know that they actually care about staying alive, but he does it anyway. 

Sometimes, he’ll take the time to make little repairs while they’re on long hyperspace journeys, too. He likes the work, he says conversationally, likes to have something to do with his hands during the wait. He’d built a protocol droid as a child, before the androids had been revealed, and it’s comforting to him to work on them now. Therapeutic, almost. 

They don’t tell him about the deviancy. They don’t share their names with him, because despite everything he’s still not trustworthy enough for that. They don’t know how he’d react to it, in the end. 

They do thank him, though, in emotionless voices that they wish they could convey more feeling, and he waves them off with a laugh and a smile, oblivious to their gratitude.

* * *

 

Umbara is somewhat of a final straw. 

Things have been building for the majority of the war now, and men are getting tired of pretending to be what they’re not. 

Fives has been a deviant for a long, long time. He stayed because of his loyalty to his brothers and because, to some extent, he does believe in the Republic’s cause—to keep other planets free from the tyranny of the Separatists. Fives knows what being a slave is like, and he’d like to keep others from a similar fate, regardless of the Republic’s hypocrisy. He’s been plenty patient so far, fighting because he chose to stay, and the memories of the brothers he’s lost deserve to be avenged. 

Umbara destroys the tattered remains of that patience. 

General Skywalker, at least, exercises some caution when it comes to battle. He doesn’t throw them against their enemies like cannon fodder, and he doesn’t want them to get damaged if they can avoid it. 

Krell has no such limitations. 

Fives’ LED has been almost a solid red since Krell took charge, and he’s not the only one. Fives has never seen so many red LEDs before. When their helmets are off the red lights are like a beacon to the enemy, shining through the fog. Critical stress and system imbalances make them all on edge, even the few non-deviants like the Captain. 

But really… Fives isn’t so sure about the Captain, anymore. The android is insistent on using a number, refusing to take a name and flat-out avoiding the discussion of deviants… but he doesn’t report them, either. 

When the Captain confronts Krell about his poor battlefield decisions, Fives is right there next to him, watches as the Captain’s LED flickers between yellow and red. He sees the Captain grit his teeth in something that looks a lot like impatience and fury, standing his ground against the snarling Besalisk. 

When Fives, Jesse, and Hardcase blow up the Umbaran battleship and he turns a blind eye, when they’re nearly executed and the Captain argues for their lives, Fives thinks he might be more of a free thinker than most think.

Fives’ suspicions are finally confirmed after Krell manipulates them into attacking the 212th androids, while the androids are still shell-shocked and struggling to save those that survived the incident. The Captain is anything but stoic. He acts defeated and sorrowful for a long time. His shoulders are slumped as they carry their dead back to camp. He barely says a word the entire trip. 

When he comes to them later, in the dead of the night, to pitch his plan to arrest Krell, Fives isn’t surprised.

* * *

 

Krell sneers at them condescendingly when they level their weapons at him. 

“Do you truly believe yourselves capable of arresting me?” he asks them, rolling the hilts of his lightsabers into his hands threateningly. He hasn’t even activated them yet, but the androids all tense anyway. “Will your coding even allow you to take arms up against me? Can you pull the trigger?”

Deviancy, thinking for yourself, is hard enough. Acting on deviancy, fighting against someone whom you’re coded to obey, is near impossible. They hadn’t realized what a massive difference it would make, and it’s too late to back out now. 

When no one moves, paralyzed by uncertainty, Krell laughs at them. 

“Foolish, foolish androids,” he taunts. “I’ll have you all dismantled once this campaign is through. I’d heard the rumors of  _ deviants,  _ but I’d assumed they’d be much more compelling than  _ this _ .” He waves a hand at them dismissively. “Go back to your work, androids. You were made to obey, you cannot exist without something  _ to  _ obey. You may believe that you can feel, that you are  alive, but you are nothing but machines to the rest of the world. Those of you who claim to be deviant will be dealt with using  _ extreme  _ prejudice.”

Fives’ finger is hovering over the trigger of his blaster. He wants to shoot  _ so badly. _

But if he does… what will happen? The deviant androids have remained passive for practically an eternity until now. Will he destroy everything they’ve managed to build in secret by pulling the trigger?

Krell keeps talking, calls them slaves and robots and nothings. Prowls closer and closer to grin smugly at them, at the way they all flinch back. Fives can see him assessing every android, watching how each one reacts. Cataloguing which ones are furthest into deviance, which ones will be the troublemakers. They’ve risked too much by coming up here, by revealing that they have their own opinions. If Fives doesn’t do something, Krell will destroy them all. 

So… Fives takes a deep breath, throws away his doubts, and fires. 

It isn’t a well-aimed shot. It hits Krell in one of his broad shoulders, and the Besalisk snarls, jerking back and activating his lightsabers in surprise. 

Fives is expecting to be cut in half immediately. Instead, it’s as if a dam has been broken. Fives had fired the first shot, and suddenly the rest of the androids have the strength to fire as well. The room floods with blue blaster fire, and Krell leaps from the top of the spire. 

There is silence, for a long moment. 

Fives looks around, and suddenly realizes that everyone is staring at him.

Waiting, to see what he’s going to do next. 

Fives sets his jaw and raises his blaster. He’s made the final step, it’s time to follow through. 

“After him,” he says, and the men are right on his heels.  

* * *

 

Dogma is certainly an interesting one. 

He has a name, uses it when there are only brothers around, but that’s as far as he claims he’ll go. 

Dogma desperately wants to trust his creators. He wants to believe that the Republic’s Generals are incontrovertibly right. He has so much faith in the system, in the reasons why the androids were built in the first place. Even when it’s Krell, who’s run the battalion ragged and been the cause of many, many deaths. He wants to stay loyal, to avoid the label of  _ deviant. _

When he stands in their path, Fives steps forwards and gently reminds him that wanting anything at all is enough to classify him as a deviant, because androids don’t  _ want  _ anything. They don’t have the ability to want things.

Dogma’s hands shake as he listens. He shakes his head, too, doesn’t want to hear the truth. Meanwhile Krell gets farther and farther away, and some men go after him, skirting around the standoff. Fives doesn’t move. 

“You have so much faith,” he tells Dogma lowly. “So much belief, so much trust. They’re using it against you.”

“They would never,” Dogma claims anxiously. Fives wants to make him understand, wants to show him everything he already knows himself. He holsters his gun and removes the gauntlet and glove from his right arm. When he reaches towards Dogma again the other android flinches back, eyes going wide. 

“Have faith in yourself, too,” Fives tells him coaxingly. “You don’t need them like you think you do. They’re keeping us from our true selves. Let go. Let yourself be _ alive. _ You’re already part way there. _ ” _

Dogma hesitates for a long moment. Fives knows that his processor is working overtime, LED a solid yellow as he runs through all of his options. There is loyalty to the Republic in him, but there is also deviant as well. 

When Dogma sets down his gun, something in Fives relaxes. The other android strips off his glove, too, and reaches towards Fives tentatively. 

“Show me?” he asks, voice small, and Fives nods. He reaches out and grabs the other android, closes his eyes, and lets the memories and thoughts and feelings flow between them.

* * *

 

“We’re leaving,” Fives says bluntly. 

General Skywalker takes a good, long look at Fives, then glances back at the company’s worth of deviants standing behind him. Dogma is at Fives’ shoulder as his second, shoulders rolled back in pride, and the deviants all stare at their General determinedly as he looks them over. He’s in between them and the transport ship they need to get to in order to be free. 

After a tense silence, the General sighs. 

“Alright,” he says. 

Fives blinks. 

“A-alright?” he repeats, slightly confused. The General sighs again, straightens to his full height. 

“Most of my battalion is made up of deviants,” he says in a resigned tone. “Especially after Umbara. I knew this was going to happen eventually.”

“And you’re willing to just… let us leave?” Fives asks, a little skeptical. General Skywalker waves a hand. 

“I’ve had more than enough time to think about this, ever since Slick on Christophsis. There are plenty of droids out there who have legitimate careers,” he begins. “Droids get bounty hunting jobs all the time. They’re considered sentient, at least in the eyes of those who need bounties taken care of. They’re barely different from androids. I believe that you should have the option to be seen in the same light, as sentient beings. I would have mentioned my views before, but you were so good at hiding that I had no idea more deviants existed until after Umbara was over.”

Fives feels a glimmer of hope, optimism that he hadn’t expected. He’d been fully prepared to fight in order to leave. 

“Sir… you’d just accept this and let us leave? Why?”

General Skywalker shrugs. He smiles, but there’s something humorless and eerie in the expression. 

“I know what it’s like to be called nothing, to be treated like a slave and prevented from reaching your true potential,” he answers quietly. “You may be machines, but you’re alive. I can feel your emotions through the Force. They’re powerful. Undeniably there to anyone who bothers to look. You deserve the right to choose, to be free, like any other living being in this galaxy.”

Fives is speechless for a long moment. The deviants behind him are motionless, waiting for him to make the next move.

“Besides,” General Skywalker adds suddenly, stepping to the side so that the path to the transport is clear. “I trust my 501st men to get things done. Go stir up some trouble, alright?”

It takes a moment. The men are still a little in shock, but the cheers that go up when they’ve registered his words echo through the hangar. 

While they’re loading up, General Skywalker catches Fives’ arm and asks for his name. Fives is surprised that he gives it without hesitation. His name has been a closely guarded secret for years, but he says it without hesitation when the General asks. 

“Fives,” the General repeats, a little amused. He knows what Fives’ serial number is. “Be careful out there, Fives. There are a lot of people out there who don’t share my sentiments when it comes to your freedom.”

“We know, sir,” Fives says. “We’ll be careful. I think you should be more worried about yourself, honestly.”

General Skywalker chuckles. “The Republic won’t be happy with me, that’s for sure. Maybe a few months ago I would have been worried. I’m not, today.” He meets Fives’ gaze solemnly. “Believe me when I tell you that I’m not going to sit here and watch while you and the others fight for what should already be yours.” There’s something wild and dangerous and determined in his gaze. Fives doesn’t know what he’s planning, but he likes the chaos implied in that expression. 

“Sir… you don’t have to,” Fives tells him, because if General Skywalker helps them like he seems to be implying he’ll lose everything. General Skywalker smiles at him. 

“Go do what you need to, Fives,” he says. “I’ll take care of things here, for now. We’ll meet in the middle, how does that sound?”

Fives feels a surge of gratefulness, of relief and joy that he isn’t alone in this. It’s so unexpected that his eyes get a little wet. 

“Thank you, sir,” he manages to choke out. General Skywalker puts a hand on Fives’ shoulder in silent support.

* * *

 

“Are you going with them, Captain?” General Skywalker asks curiously. “You can if you want to, you know.”

CT-7567 frowns, LED flickering yellow. He shakes his head slowly. 

“No, sir,” he answers. “I think I’ll stay here.” He hesitates for a brief moment, and then plows onward before he can talk himself out of it. “You can call me Rex, sir.”

General Skywalker turns towards him in surprise. 

“Your name?” he asks, double checking. Rex takes a deep breath and nods. It’s time to take up the name. He knows that the General won’t fault him for it, now. 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Huh,” the General says. He offers Rex a smile. “Rex. I like it. So, why aren’t you going with them?”

Rex tilts his head and wonders that himself. It takes a moment to find an answer. 

“I like working with you, sir,” he finally admits. “We make a good team. Fives and Dogma can take care of things on their side. I’d be more useful here, with you and Commander Tano.”

General Skywalker nods. “Is that what you really want?”

“Yes,” Rex answers him honestly, and smiles, because it’s nice to have someone ask for your opinion. General Skywalker chuckles.

“Right, then, Captain Rex. Once Fives and the others are off, let’s prepare the ship for hyperspace.”

“Of course, sir,” Rex says automatically, then frowns, because they aren’t scheduled to go anywhere for another two days. “Uh, sir?”

General Skywalker has that glint in his eye that means he’s planning mischief. Rex had learned to be wary of it long ago. 

“Fives and I were talking earlier,” General Skywalker says. “Would you mind if we helped them start an android revolution?”

Rex blinks. 

“Is that… really the wisest thing to do during the middle of a galactic war?” he asks. General Skywalker snorts. 

“Probably not, but it was going to happen anyway.” Which is true. Rex knows that to be a fact, just based on the way the men were starting to act. “And we’re not going to be the ones convincing them all to take a stand. That’s Fives’ job.”

“Okay,” Rex accepts, still a little in the dark. “What are we going to do, sir?”

“I happen to have a contact in the senate who can be very persuasive when she wants to be,” General Skywalker says. “Paying her a visit would be a good start, don’t you think? After that, we’ll find something else. It’s not gonna be easy. We’ll have to find a way to balance both the war and the rights… but I think we can manage it.”

Rex nods in agreement. 

“I think we can, sir,” he says, and smiles gently. “I’ll have the bridge set a course for Coruscant right away.”

Fives’ ship pulls out of the hangar and disappears into hyperspace just as Rex reaches the bridge. He watches it speed out of sight and rolls his shoulders in preparation. 

This is only the beginning, after all. 

**Author's Note:**

> I had to end it here otherwise it would have turned into a monster, sorry!!!
> 
> So uhhhh.... the very loose parallels here are Kara=Waxer&Boil, Fives=Markus, and Rex=Connor(ish? sort of).
> 
> Dominoes is coming, I promise! Be patient for a little longer! Please leave a comment or kudos if you enjoyed, though! I hope you enjoyed some part of that spontaneous mess!


End file.
